


Someone's Watching Over You

by LittleLynn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Amnesia, Aziraphale looses his memory, Crowley has to both look after him and cover for him, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, accidental miracles, but the smut will be in chapter 4 only, life is confusing when you don't remember how to angel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-19 05:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19350670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/pseuds/LittleLynn
Summary: “Let's say for a second that I believe you - and I am not saying that yet mind you. But if you can ‘miracle’ things up, then why bother with the first aid kit at all? Can’t you just ‘miracle’ me better?”“No idea, maybe, maybe not. Your head seems like a bit of a precious thing to go around experimenting on willy-nilly though.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's almost 1am, I'll do the proofread and edit tomorrow when my brain is awake, i just wanted to get it up
> 
> Also wanna low key dedicate this to the Wildly Positive And Wonderful good omens fandom on the whole, I wouldn't have found the motivation to really go for some GO multi-chapter fics without the absolutely unbelievable response to my other fic, so thank you <3
> 
> This will be four chapters, they're all planned, I will do my damnedest to get at least one chapter up a week!

If he had been asked, Crowley would have said that angels and demons couldn’t get head injuries, primarily because it didn’t make one lick of sense. They had bodies, sure, but they didn’t really  _ have _ bodies. And given their non-corporeal natural state, Crowley would have assumed that any head injury to their fleshy vessels would have been harmless - (aesthetically inconvenient at worst - given that they weren’t actually human. Funny how wrong he could be.

Really what was astounding was that he hadn’t managed to trip and fall and find out first hand in his thousands of years on earth that in fact  _ yes _ they apparently could get head injuries. 

This discovery re: head injuries had been made recently, as Aziraphale looked up at him, blinking those big blue eyes, and asking who he was, and that followed that with a puzzled ‘more to the point, who am I’.

He had, naturally, assumed Aziraphale had been joking. The angel could be pretty funny at times, in his own little way. They’d been having a debate about Plato - not about his works, about the man himself, Crowley had thought he was a self-righteous, fence-sitting, entitled prick, Aziraphale had disagreed, probably just to be contrary - and any debate about Plato eventually required hard liquor. 

Any debate about Plato also apparently involved throwing crackers at each other, miracling more alcohol out of thin air while ranting about the cowardice of speaking through the voice of Socrates, and drawing a diagram of why the cave allogry was stupid in sharpie all over Aziraphale’s wall. 

At one point Crowley had shouted, “Just because no one had said it before doesn’t make it ground-breaking, it’s just made is so obvious no one else had bothered!” while standing up on unsteady legs and gesticulating wildly. 

Aziraphale had blustered up to his feet to protest, even more unsteadily than Crowley, jabbed a finger in his general direction, stepped forward, promptly fell over the collection of poetry which he had insisted wasn’t in the way just fifteen minutes ago, and then landed face first on the floor, but not before braining himself on a stack of hardback Dickens. 

Crowley had laughed so hard his stomach actually hurt which had stopped him really registering the fact that Aziraphale was out cold on the floor. 

So really, that they could get knocked unconscious had been the first revelation of the evening. 

“Angel, get up,” Crowley had managed between snickers, shaking Aziraphale’s shoulder and finally becoming concerned when he didn’t respond. 

Crowley rolled the angel over to find him out cold and with an impressive bump forming on his head. 

Fast forward ten minutes, Aziraphale had come to, blinked up at Crowley, and asked who he was. 

“You’re Aziraphale...uh.” Crowley trailed off, wondering how exactly he explained Aziraphale to Aziraphale. A principality of heaven? A bit of a shit angel? A reluctant bookseller? Averter of the apocalypse?

“Am I? Oh. I don’t remember. That is a bit concerning.” Aziraphale creased his brow, but otherwise didn’t look nearly as concerned as Crowley felt one should on discovering they’d lost their memories. 

“Just a  _ bit _ ?” Crowley let his exasperation shine through, as he usually did. 

“Hmm. And who are you?” 

“I’m, ah - ” it occurred to Crowley in this moment that he had no idea if Aziraphale even knew he was an angel, and didn’t that open up a whole different can of worms, “I’m your friend.”

“Quite close friends, it would appear?” Aziraphale half-asked, scanning around the room and taking in the copious amount of empty wine bottles and both their jackets strewn over chairs.

“Yeah. Do you really not remember anything?” Crowley asked, feeling the need to check one last time. Aziraphale had become a much more proficient liar lately so you never knew. 

“Sadly not. But it looks like I live a fairly quiet life, aside from you.” Aziraphale commented, looking around his dusty old bookshop. Crowley barked out a laugh. He supposed their lives were quite quiet for now, though they were perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop with heaven and hell; were they really going to let them get away with thwarting the apocalypse?

“Did I say something funny?” Aziraphale asked, face filled with an innocent kind of curiosity Crowley hadn’t seen from him in a few millennia and finding that he had missed it. 

“Sort of. We’ve had a lively year.”

“Oh, good lively?”

“Ah, sure.” Crowley replied, it all depended on how you looked at it really, they were both still alive, and that was astronomically better than Crowley would have predicted. 

“Well, do you know I’m feeling a little tired.” Aziraphale said, stifling a little yawn. “Perhaps I shall be back to myself come morning, do you know where my bedroom is?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Uh, maybe it’s better if you come home with me, just until we find a way to get you better.” Crowley suggested, scratching the back of his head in puzzlement, wondering exactly how it was that Aziraphale was taking this so well. Just the thought of heaven choosing tonight to drop in on Aziraphale was enough to make him queasy (and queasy was  _ not _ an easy thing to make a demon feel). It made him wonder if Aziraphale was even aware that he wasn’t human. Did he just think he was what he looked like? Or did he know somewhere deep down that he was an angel? Crowley either needed to be way more sober or way more drunk for this situation, he just wasn’t sure which. 

“Perhaps that is for the best, safe hands and all that.” Aziraphale nodded his agreement, standing up and dusting mostly imaginary fluff from his clothes. 

“Right. Back to my place then.” Crowley said awkwardly. It had never really been awkward with Aziraphale before, even at the beginning, they had just slipped into being them, without either of them knowing. 

He ushered his friend into the Bentley and actually laughed when Aziraphale squeaked and braced himself when he started driving. It had been a while since he’d managed to get aziraphale to do anything but mutter indistinctly and gently complain about his driving. 

“My dear do you really need to drive so fast?” Aziraphale gasped, “there are people!” he protested, Crowley flushed warm at the endearment. It made him wonder if all this time Aziraphale hadn’t meant anything by calling him that and it was just a part of his vocabulary, or if it was just instinctual for him to call him that, after so many years of it. 

Crowley didn’t scare easily, but he would admit to slight trepidation about the answer. 

“They’re fine. I’m a good driver.” Crowley said, taking a corner so fast that he had to bend physics a tad to stop the car from rolling over. 

“I  _ beg _ to differ.” Aziraphale retorted, desperately trying to find something to cling to. Crowley almost jumped when he found Crowley’s hand. Just a lack of anything else particularly grabbable, he supposed. 

“Angel I need that hand to change gears.” Crowley said, a little reluctantly. 

“Oh. Sorry. But if you could slow down just a little, then I would be most grateful.” Aziraphale said, and then turned those big blue eyes and slightly pinked cheeks on him, forcing Crowley to immediately take his foot off the accelerator. “Thank you.”

He still sped the whole way home, but was at least not doing 90mph through central London, which was apparently enough for Aziraphale. 

As he led Aziraphale up to his apartment, it really occurred to him that the angel had barely ever been to his place, the pair of them always seeming to pick the bookshop as the place to be. This realisation was followed by the thought that there were pictures of the pair of them strewn in various places around the flat. Ah well, Aziraphale right now didn’t know that he didn’t know Crowley had a framed picture of the pair of them at the Ritz set on his mantle piece, and he really didn’t want to miracle them into the void. 

In his current state Aziraphale didn’t have enough information to know that he didn’t know they were there anyway. 

“Oh what lovely plants.” Was Aziraphale’s first comment, rushing towards the greenery and telling all the plants what good little growers they were. Crowley glared at them from behind Aziraphale’s back so that they didn’t go getting any funny ideas. 

“You’re taking this  _ awfully _ well.” Crowley said what he’d wanted to say for a while now, Aziraphale blinked at him, in that way of his, but maybe a little more open than before he hit his head. 

“I suppose. It is difficult to panic when you’re not sure what exactly you should be panicking over though. I know there’s something missing, but, I don’t know. Well, I suppose I feel safe enough, so no need to worry.”

“Aren’t you worried your memories won’t come back?” Crowley asked, because he was worried, he was  _ very _ worried. 

At least in part because without Aziraphale - his Aziraphale - an eternity went from not nearly long enough, to an intolerably long time to exist.  

“A little. It difficult to explain though. It is terribly hard to miss something you don’t remember having at all.” Aziraphale explained, Crowley supposed he could understand that, but it unsettled him, to know that surely that must mean Aziraphale would not miss him at all either right now.

“I guess that makes sense.” Crowley said, mostly through lack of anything else to say. He’d never felt more out of his depth in all his six thousand years.

“Not to be a bother, but this really does hurt rather badly. Do you have anything for it?” Aziraphale asked, gingerly touching the raised bump on his forehead, a thankfully small cut in the centre of it thanks to  _ Oliver Twist _ . 

“Oh, right. Yeah, this way.” Crowley said, leading the way to his extremely small bathroom - mostly extremely small due to the real estate value of property around here, rather than Crowley’s abject lack of need for a bathroom. Well, until now apparently. 

Turning down the lid, Crowley motioned for Aziraphale to sit on the ever-unused toilet, while he futilely opened the sole cabinet in the bathroom. It was empty except for a toothbrush and toothpaste because demons simply didn’t fall over and hit their head. It had been a strange day, and Crowley’s mind always worked a little slowly when Aziraphale had him fixed with an imploring look. 

Crowley didn’t even think twice before mircaling up a first aid kit right in front of Aziraphale, the angel near jumping out his skin when it materialised.

“How did you  _ do  _ that?” Aziraphale asked, baffled. Well, Crowley supposed that answered the question about whether or not Aziraphale knew what he was. 

“Uh, just a small miracle.” Crowley said lamely. 

“Some kind of magic trick?”

“No,” Crowley said, scrunching his face up in distaste. Though admittedly Aziraphale’s delighted face at magic shows made them more tolerable. Even so, miracle was nothing as pedestrian as a magic trick.

“Well it must have been.” Aziraphale protested, reaching out and taking the kit from Crowley’s hands, turning it over in his own, as if it might reveal to him how it got there.

“It wasn’t. Look Aziraphale this might sound somewhat batty but you’re an angel.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an angel. And me producing that first aid kit was a miracle. You can do them too, if you remembered how.”

“You must think me quite the gullible fool.” Aziraphale frowned at him, brow creased. Crowley had he desire to smooth it, as he always did when Aziraphale frowned. 

“It’s true.”

“Oh yes, well in that case prove it.”

“Alright then.” Crowley shrugged and miracled up one of Aziraphale’s favourite blue flowers. 

“Oh what a lovely flower!” Aziraphale smiled, reaching out and taking it, apparently momentarliy having forgotten about the whole ‘out of thin air’ part. 

“Your favourite.” Crowley said, as nonchalantly as he could manage. It was probably futile, as Aziraphale turned a hundred watt smile on him and Crowley could physically feel himself melt a little. 

“Fine, let's say for a second that I believe you - and I am not saying that yet mind you,” Aziraphale started, Crowley only half hearing him as the angel tucked the flower into a buttonhole in his jacket. “Then why bother with the first aid kit at all? Can’t you just ‘miracle’ me better?”

“No idea, maybe, maybe not. Your head seems like a bit of a precious thing to go around experimenting on willy-nilly though.” Crowley replied, getting a cotton ball out of the kit and dabbing it in the anti-bacterial wash, resolutely not looking at Aziraphale’s cloud-soft expression as he did so. “I’ve honestly no idea if this is going to hurt or not.” Crowley admitted, but Aziraphale held still for him regardless. He didn’t flinch, so Crowley figured it didn’t sting. 

The cut wasn’t deep, though the bruise was going to be fairly nasty. Easy enough to clean.

“Thank you. Do you have any paracetamol I might have, it’s causing me an awful headache.”

“No, sorry.” Crowley responded, he had never in his life thought that he might need paracetomol. 

“Could you ‘miracle’ some up? Aziraphale asked, looking skeptical even as he asked. 

“Yeah, but, let me try something first. Might have something better. No idea if it’s going to work though.” Crowley said, uncharacteristically nervous as he reached out a hand and very gently touched his fingers to the bump. 

Drawing away pain from someone other than themselves was not something that demons had much practice with. But Crowley knew that angels could do it, had seen Aziraphale do it before, and generally speaking they had the same abilities as each other. By the sweet sigh Aziraphale let out, eyes fluttering closed, and the light ache in Crowley’s fingers, he guessed it had worked. 

“Okay, I believe you.” Aziraphale breathed, looking far more relaxed. Crowley wanted to scoop him up and take him to bed, though admittedly that was not all that rare a thought for him. He pushed it away like he always did. 

“Better then, I take it?”

“Much.” Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley shared it. “Can you show me how to do that?”

“Ah, not sure really. It’s a bit of an instinct, never thought about how to explain it before. A bit like breathing, you just do it.” Crowley replied, annoyed at himself for not having a better answer for Aziraphale. “You could always give it a try.”

“How?”

“Dunno. Think of something you want and try to make it appear?” Crowley explained, badly. He watched, feeling very un-demonically fond, as Aziraphale scrunched his face up in concentration.

“It’s no use. I’ve no idea what I’m doing.” Aziraphale huffed after a few failed attempts.

“What were you trying to do?” Crowley asked. 

“Just another flower, one for you.” Aziraphale replied, gesturing dejectedly to the blue flower sitting in his lapel, which seemed to wilt alongside him. 

“Oh.” Crowley said dumbly.

“So how do two angels wind up with a bookshop and a flat on earth? Seems awfully strange.” Aziraphale asked, after a short awkward pause. 

“I’m not an angel, I’m a demon.” Crowley explained, embarrassed all of a sudden, anxious of how Aziraphale would react. The bathroom seemed far too crampt. 

He reacted with a snort.

“No you’re not.”

“So you’ll believe that you’re an angel but not that I’m a demon. Where does that logic get off.” Crowley scoffed, not reading into the fact that Aziraphale didn’t believe him. 

“I believe that  _ we _ are angels. Sort of. Not sure yet, the jury is still out.” Aziraphale replied, Crowley sighed and miracled up a book to make his point. “See, angel.” Aziraphale said, smiling up at him, making Crowley wonder if he should have miracled up something a little more demonic than  _ The Tales of Winne the Pooh _ .

Crowley considered for a moment the possibility of letting Aziraphale think he was an angel. It would be nice, but he’s eventually be found out. And Aziraphale pulled this  _ face _ when he found out Crowley had lied to him, like he had just simultaneously sunk every duck in every park on earth. 

“No, I am, look.” Crowley said, backing into the more spacious bedroom and letting his black wings fan out. 

“ _ Oh _ . My they are  _ beautiful _ .” Aziraphale said, scurrying forward and reaching out a hand, pausing suddenly just before his fingers touched the downy soft of Crowley’s wings. He wanted to lean forward and close the gap. “Sorry, may I?”

“Uh,” Crowley swallowed “sure.” 

Aziraphale stroked his delicate fingers over the feathers and Crowley had to stifle a sweet sound. Part of him wanted to exist in this moment forever, but more of him wanted Aziraphale with all of his faculties to be there with him. He could enjoy it for a few moments though, demons were allowed to be selfish. Actively encouraged even.

“They’re beautiful, and look very much like angel wings to me.” Aziraphale said, stepping back and clasping his hands behind his back, as if he needed to to resist touching, Crowley wished he wouldn't be so polite.  

“They’re black. Angel wings are white, demon wings are black. Yours are white.” Crowley shrugged, doing his best to disguise the small strain of shame in his voice. 

“But I’ve no idea how to manifest wings, so for all I know you’re lying.”

“What possible reason could I have to  _ want _ you to think I’m a demon?” Crowley asked, a little exasperated, even though he was fairly sure Aziraphale was deliberately ruffling his feathers over it at this point. 

“Well it wouldn’t make any less sense than a demon carefully seeing to my headwound and giving me a place to stay. If I’ an angel and you’re a demon, then shouldn’t we be enemies?” Aziraphale asked, brow raised, making his bump wiggle for a second.

“We’ve become friends over the years,” Crowley struggled, entirely sure that their relationship was completely impossible to explain to anyone.

“MmHm.” Aziraphale tutted, unconvinced. “You’ve hardly done anything demonic since I got here.” The flower in his lapel seemed to eye Crowley accusingly, so Crowley huffed and lowered his sunglasses, revealing his snake-like eyes. 

“See.” 

“Only a pair of lovely eyes.” Aziraphale smiled at him, cupping Crowley’s cheek and brushing this thumb under one of Crowley’s demonic eyes. “I’m rather tired after all this, do you mind if I have a nap?”

Crowley swallowed and shook his head, no, he didn’t mind. He never minded anything when it was Aziraphale, not really.

“Thank’s angel.” Aziraphale said, grinning at his own cheekiness and walking away from Crowley.

Hey, Crowley thought, still rooted to the spot, that’s my line. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos make me smile, comments earn eternal salvation (or damnation, depending on your preference) <3
> 
> Tune in next time for Aziraphale uncontrollably miracling nice things for Crowley.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than expected, I forget that I'm not a student with endless time on my hands anymore. I shall edit on the weekend, because it's coming up to 2am, but it was late and I wanted to get it up. Anyway, enjoy!

The next day, when Aziraphale woke up not miraculously healed, Crowley realised he was actually going to have to do something to try and jog the angel’s memory, though  _ how _ exactly he was supposed to do that, he had no idea. 

The internet had a range of idiotic ideas on how to jog a mortal’s memory, but unsurprisingly nothing that didn’t sound like it was from a badly researched novel, and even more unsurprisingly, nothing on how to jog and angel’s memory. Was it the angel bit of Aziraphale that was broken or the corporeal vessel? Was it his celestial mind or his physical brain? Honestly Crowley didn’t have the first clue, and it was hurting his brain to think about it. 

And it wasn’t like he could pop down to hell and ask either, because even if someone did know, which he sincerely doubted, they weren’t going to help an angel, and they would inevitably ask Crowley why he needed to know and then barge into his business until they found out. And even if they didn’t know, they’d still want to know why Crowley wanted to know and then he’d be in for it. 

Not that anyone in hell would be particularly surprised to discover that he was invested in Aziraphale’s well being and wanted to help him. But letting the hordes of satan know that there was a very vulnerable angel milling around on earth right now just seemed unacceptably reckless. No, hell was a non-starter. 

Then there was heaven, and Crowley couldn’t even imagine their reaction. In fact the image of Crowley, Demon of Hell (though was he, anymore? He was still unclear on if he’d be fired or not after apocawasnt), knocking on heaven’s door and asking if mayhaps they knew how to restore the memory of one wayward angel. They’d probably take the opportunity to try and reeducate him, Crowley thought with a shiver. 

So no, Crowley and Aziraphale weren’t exactly in heaven and hell’s good books after averting their beloved apocalypse, and honestly he still wouldn’t go to them for help even if they had been.

So the internet and it’s vague suggestion of jogging Aziraphale’s memory by showing him familiar things and places was pretty much all he had. 

The best suggestion the internet had was obviously go visit your doctor immediately, but frankly Crowley worried what they would find if they put a 6000 year old celestial being in an MRI machine. Though it would answer the question of just how realistic these corporeal forms were. 

Finding familiar people and places for Aziraphale would at least be relatively easy, Crowley was, as far as he knew, the only friend he’d bothered to maintain over the millennia, and the bookshop was his most familiar place. In fact he was a bit of a hermit, so Crowley figured if anywhere was going to miraculously send his memories surging back, it would probably be him or the bookshop. 

What he would do if that failed was a problem for future Crowley, not present Crowley. Present Crowley was dealing with an adorably sleep rumbled angel blinking up at him and asking if it was okay if he used his toothbrush. 

“Um, sure. I can get you your own if you like?” Crowley offered.

“No no, it’s fine,” Aziraphale smiled. “So long as it’s alright with you of course.”

“Yep. Fine.” Crowley said, only slightly unevenly, for which he was grateful. 

So Aziraphale used his toothbrush. No big deal, it’s not like he wouldn’t happily kiss him given half the chance, if there was any hope of Aziraphale ever wanting him as something other than a cherished friend. Not that he took that friendship for granted, far from it, there is nothing to Crowley wouldn’t do to protect it. He’d helped to stop armageddon for it, after all.  

Besides it’s not like they had germs like humans anyway. He was fairly sure they didn’t anyhow, in six thousand years he’d never even had a cold, so it seemed like a good bet at least. Though having said that until yesterday he hadn’t thought they’d been able to get amnesia either. 

“Do I have any fresh clothes here? I feel a tad grimy,” Aziraphale said as he emerged from the bathroom.

“Yeah, in here.” Crowley replied, opening the wardrobe. They usually just miracled their clothes clean, but not having a few spares would just be silly, and sometimes it was nice to have a little variation. 

“My my, creatures of habit I see.” Aziraphale said upon seeing the few very similarly styled beige, white and blue items, alongside Crowley’s own current preferred look of black blazers and black jeans. Aziraphale then started to change right there and then and Crowley beat a hasty retreat into his living room. 

In his living room, Crowley paced about, glared at the plants in the hallway, and gently stroked the one in the living room Aziraphale had got him. It worked as usual to calm him down somewhat.

“There, much better.” Aziraphale said, coming out of the bedroom, smoothing down his waistcoat. He walked over to Crowley, rested one hang on his chest, got up on his tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “Thank you, dear.” 

Crowley, understandably, froze completely, then blinked repeatedly while his entire person tried to simultaneously crash and reboot. 

Aziraphale, meanwhile, was pottering around the living room nosily as if nothing strange had just happened. 

By the time Crowley had remembered how to make words come out his mouth, Aziraphale was smiling fondly at a picture of them Crowley kept on the mantelpiece and it felt rather like the moment to bring up the peck had passed. 

“So what’s the plan for today then?” Aziraphale asked, carefully setting the picture back down and looking up at Crowley.

“The internet suggested I take you to familiar places, and lacking a better plan I figured we’d do that.”

“Jolly good.” Aziraphale nodded. “Where too then?” He asked, walking back over and linking arms with Crowley. They did do this sometimes, but with his cheek still on fire from Aziraphale’s lips, it felt, different.

Crowley brushed it off and led the way out of the flat. 

“Ah, I believe this is where I woke up yesterday.” Aziraphale said as they stepped into the bookshop. They had driven over in the Bentley of course, and a part of Crowley had hoped that his awful driving and an endless stream of Queen might have done something for Aziraphale’s memory, but he had just asked Crowley to  _ please driver slower you madman _ . He had patted his knee and said ‘thank you dear’ when Crowley slowed down, not knowing how out of character that was for Crowley. He wasn’t entirely sure why he did it. 

“Yeah. This is your bookshop. Well, I say ‘shop’, you’ve made avoiding selling books into an artform. I’ve never even met demons better at scaring people off.”

“Yes well, why would anyone want to sell these books, they’re lovely.” Aziraphale said, picking up one of his own favourites - though he didn’t look like he knew that - and flicking it open. 

“That’s one of your favourites.” Crowley said. 

“Really? Then perhaps I shall have to read it, could be the cure we’re looking for.” Aziraphale said, before adding, “Books are a balm to the soul.” At the exact same moment that Crowley said: 

“Books are a balm to the soul.” 

The look Aziraphale shot him was hard to define, the closest Crowley could come was  _ soft _ , like so many things about Aziraphale. Except for the parts that were so delightfully unexpectedly  _ sharp _ . 

“You’ve been saying that since books were invented.” Crowley shrugged awkwardly, he usually didn’t feel as inept as this, even when he was being genuinely inept. 

“Then I guess I’m still me.” Aziraphale smiled one of  _ those  _ smiles again as he came over and took Crowley’s hand, giving it a squeeze  _ and then not letting go, _ even as he moved off to some other point in the room. 

Crowley usually felt as though he was in caught orbit around Aziraphale and had no choice but to follow where he led. If normal Aziraphale’s normal behaviour was like a gravitational pull, then being gently pulled around by his hand was more akin to being drawn inexorably towards a black hole. 

The black hole in this analogy was all of the emotions Crowley had spent almost six thousand years meticulously storing away where they couldn’t hurt anyone or anything, including their unlikely friendship. 

“You should read the book to me, perhaps it will jog my memory.” Aziraphale suggested with a smile. 

“You usually read to me actually. You claim I don’t read enough and am missing out.” Crowley replied, remembering the evenings spent with books instead of wine (sometimes both), lying on the sofa with his head on Aziraphale’s legs, pretending that he wasn’t loving every second of having Aziraphale read to him, even though they both knew better. 

It was exactly an incentive to get Crowley to read.

“Really? Well in that case perhaps I should read to you.” Aziraphale replied,  _ satan yes, please _ , Crowley thought, something must have shown on his face because Aziraphale lit up in that way of his, when his whole body somehow becomes his smile. Usually Crowley wouldn’t expect Aziraphale to pick up on what was going through his head, maybe he wasn’t usually paying this much attention, or perhaps he was just trying to spare Crowley his badly hidden feelings. 

It probably wasn’t right to let Aziraphale read to him right now, when he didn’t know the boundaries of their relationship, and he clearly didn’t, because Aziraphale didn’t casually hold his hand, or kiss his cheek so easily. The few times he had - times Crowley hoarded and treasured like a dragon over precious gems - had been shy and hesitant, a little awkward and brushed off quickly after, to save them both a stilted conversations. 

It was tempting though, to accept Aziraphale’s offer. To let him read, to curl up on him, to let himself be held and touched, cocooned in the soft warmth that radiated off the angel, to pretend for a moment, that they were something they had not yet managed to be. But he tried to be better than that for Aziraphale. 

“Ah, not to worry. The book we were reading is in my flat anyway.” Crowley shrugged it off, it didn’t even sound believable to his own ears, and Crowley was  _ excellent  _ at buying his own bullshit. 

Aziraphale frowned at Crowley’s shrug, and a book appeared in his hand.

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked down, startled, as he held a copy of Persuasion in his hand, a bookmark poking out of the top.

“Um.” Crowley stared at the book for a few prolonged seconds. 

“Gosh, did I just miracle something?” Aziraphale asked, turning the book over in his hands. 

“Seems like it. You remembered how?”

“Not really no. I just thought you rather looked like you  _ did _ want me to read and then whoosh, the book.”

“Oh.” Crowley said, because what did one say to that. 

“Would you like to read?” Aziraphale asked, because apparently now he was the one doing the tempting. 

“Later, there’s some places I want to show you first. There’s a chef a few streets away that will probably be able to jog your memory with just the smell of his Angel Cake.”

“Cake?” Aziraphale asked, lighting up, he knew he liked cake then, even if he didn’t exactly remember it. 

Luring Aziraphale out on the promise of good food had always been a temptation that worked, albeit a harmless one. Not that Crowley ever really did anything that wasn’t relatively harmless, when you got down to it.

So Crowley took Aziraphale out and showed him some of their favourite places. They went to the cafe on Carnaby Street that Aziraphale loved, fed the ducks in St James’s park, bought ice creams and sat in the sun on their bench, walked along the river to the globe. Crowley kept forgetting, that this was all to try to restore Aziraphale’s memories, and not just a lovely day together. 

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that this Aziraphale wasn’t quite  _ his  _ Aziraphale. He looked the same, spoke the same - with all his ticketies and goshes and dearests - even his mannerisms were the same. But then he would kiss Crowley’s cheek after lighting up at being given a flake 99 ice cream and Crowley would remember. 

In the park Aziraphale had slipped his hand into Crowley’s, and he hadn’t let go since. Just occasionally squeezed and tugged Crowley towards things, when he saw something he liked. 

Somewhere along the line Crowley had started rubbing his thumb against the back of Aziraphale’s hand, casually, as if that was a thing they did, instead of just a thing Crowley wished they did.  

Funny really, how this Aziraphale was not  _ his _ Aziraphale, yet here he was, being Crowley’s. 

Crowley filled the conversation with stories of what they’d got up to in the past. The tight spots Aziraphale had managed to get himself into over and over in Greece, their time in Rome, Paris, Italy. The time Crowley had got himself summoned into a circle by a human who had stumbled upon the right instructions, then promptly run away screaming, Aziraphale coming to find him when he missed their meeting in the park. 

He talked about Shakespeare, about how the success of Hamlet had mostly been because of Aziraphale (or well, because Crowley was soft on Aziraphale, it depended how you looked at these things). 

He talked about the apocalypse that wasn’t for a while, Aziraphale listening at first enraptured, then concerned, and then just bewildered. It was a wholly ridiculous sequence of events, Crowley had to admit, but then his entire life felt like a wholly ridiculous sequence of events by this point. 

“For clarity then, am I still part of the heavenly host or not? From what you’ve said it doesn’t sound like they were terribly fond of me by the end there.”

“To be honest angel, that is the million pound question right now. I’ve not heard from hell since it all went down - or since it all  _ didn’t _ rather - and you’ve not heard from heaven.” Crowley explained, leaning on the railing and looking out at the thames. Shame it was so muddy. Smelt a lot better than it had in the 14th century at least. Then again, everything smelt better than it had in the 14th century, that had been a bad time to have a nose.

“Perhaps it’s for the best, they didn’t sound like the nicest individuals. Even the angels. Perhaps especially the angels.” Aziraphale responded, tucking in close to Crowley, as if he was getting cold, even though Crowley knew he didn’t get cold. Crowley spotted a young couple on the other side of the river, in almost the same pose and looked away before having guilty thoughts about Aziraphale and his memory. 

“Yeah, well. They’ve left us alone before. Just hopefully this time it’ll stick.” Crowley shrugged, he sincerely hoped that they had both proven to be far more trouble than they were worth. 

Crowley spared a moment to be glad that this situation hadn’t happened before they were (probably?) fired. He might have had to cover for Aziraphale with his head office, he probably would have called Michael a dick and blown their entire arrangement to hell just because he couldn’t hold his tongue. 

“Well, it’s like you said. We’re on our side. Is there anything else you wanted to show me?” Aziraphale asked. “I believe I promised to read to you.” he hadn’t, he had clearly just noticed how badly Crowley did want that, no matter what he said. It wasn’t his fault, Aziraphale’s voice was soothing to him, had been since Eden. 

“Not that much left that seems likely to spark any memories around here. I wanted to take you to the Ritz - we like to do dinner there - but it’s fully booked because of course it is.” Crowley sighed, he could miracle them a table, he mused, but they had made a decision to try to miracle as little as possible, just in case it re-attracted unwanted attention. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale said, with the smallest little wiggle, and looked down at his hands curiously, before looking up at Crowley instead. “I do believe we have a table.” 

“You sure you don’t remember anything angel?” Crowley asked with a raised brow, Aziraphale had the decency to blush at least.

“Not at all. It just soft of, happened.”

“Right.” Crowley said, but it was fond and he was shaking his head and he was probably smiling also. 

At the Ritz, Aziraphale didn’t remember anything, though his face was breaking with a smile when Crowley ordered him his favourite dishes and he subsequently tasted them again as if for the first time. 

“Oh my word this is divine. It’s otherworldly. Crowley, my dear, you have to try some of this, it’s ambrosia.” Aziraphale expounded, shutting his eyes at the flavour, making sounds Crowley did his best to shut out, tangling his feet with Crowley’s beneath the table and offering him bites off his fork when something particularly delighted him - which was every time.

He kissed Crowley’s cheek again as he covered the bill, thanked him for a lovely day. Crowley used his sunglasses as an excuse not to make eye contact for a few moments. 

When they reached the flat, Aziraphale tugged him straight towards the sofa - tugged him easily, because they’d walked home hand in hand - and picked  _ Persuasion  _ up from the coffee table it had ended up on.

“I don’t remember what had been happening, though I shall do my best.” Aziraphale said, settling down onto the frumpy comfy sofa he kept for occasions such as this. 

“Ann and Wentworth were in love, but her family pushed her around until she agreed not to marry him and now he’s back and a captain and not in love with her anymore.” Crowley explained briefly, it wouldn’t be right for a demon to know too much about and Jane Austen novel, even if it was his favourite. 

“Sounds a little sad.”

“He’s still in love with her, he’s just hurt.” Crowley replied. 

He tried to settle down on the opposite end of the sofa to listen, but Aziraphale opened up his arms, a clear invitation, and Crowley had never been very good at resisting temptation, especially not for something he wanted. And Crowley hadn’t wanted anything as completely and as complicated as he wanted Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale read, and Crowley sunk deeper into his embrace with the gentle cadence of his voice. 

“ _ You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope...I have loved none but you.” _ Aziraphale read, it took Crowley a few moments to notice that he stopped, he felt as though all of the bones in his body had melted off, wasn’t entirely sure when he ended and Aziraphale began, wasn’t sure he ever had been sure.

Honestly if it hadn’t been one of his favourite passages, Crowley might have fallen asleep, instead of noticing the halt in reading. Crowley raised his head from it’s comfy place on Aziraphale’s chest and found the angel looking at him. 

He was going to ask why he had stopped, but something in the angel’s eyes made him pause, and then instead of speaking, Aziraphale lent forward and pressed a soft and chaste but impossibly intimate kiss on Crowley’s lips.

It was an interesting feeling, for something to both set off a firework of bliss inside you, at the same time as curling around your gut as wrong. This was everything Crowley had ever wanted, but this was not Aziraphale in his right mind either. 

With a reluctant hand, Crowley pushed Aziraphale away. He wondered if this moment was the equivalent of his apple in Eden, he wished he could just take it. He’d never been a very good demon. 

“Do you not want to kiss me?” Aziraphale asked, cocking his head sweetly, softly confused. At least he could tell it wasn’t a rejection, could never really be a rejection from Crowley. 

“It’s not that simple. We don’t really do that.”

 “Whyever not though?” Aziraphale asked, scrunching his face up as if he couldn’t think of a single reason why they didn’t. For a few seconds, Crowley felt the same. But then he remembered what Aziraphale didn’t, that with his mind in tact Aziraphale loved Crowley dearly, but not quite in the same way Crowley loved him. It would be wrong to take advantage of that, and not in the fun M25 kind of way. 

Crowley was a bad demon, and he’d been a bad angel too. The only thing he’d been consistently good at in all his life was being Aziraphale’s friend, and he wasn’t about to fuck that up now.

“I don’t really know - well, I’m a demon I guess, you’re an angel. Just wouldn’t work.” Crowley said, half an excuse, half why he feared Aziraphale, his Aziraphale, didn’t want to kiss him. 

“You know I’m still not exactly convinced of that whole thing.” Aziraphale smiled, Crowley saw the attempt to lighten the mood and took it, smiling widely and rolling his slitted yellow eyes. “If I wanted to kiss you again, would you let me?” Aziraphale asked.

“You know angel, you’re not supposed to be the one doing the tempting.” Crowley avoided the question, tucked his head back down against Aziraphale, where he didn’t have to make eye contact, and breathed a sigh of relief as Aziraphale started reading again.

It wasn’t the first time he had fallen asleep curled around Aziraphale, one hand combing through his hair.

There was a blanket draped over them both when Crowley woke up. Well, not just any blanket, a blanket Aziraphale had had since 1825 and was extremely fond of. Crowley got cold sometimes, wasn’t sure if it was the snake thing or the hellfire thing, it wasn’t unheard of for Aziraphale to make sure he was warm enough when he dozed off somewhere. 

But, Aziraphale couldn’t have possibly moved without waking Crowley up, wrapped around him like he was, which meant Aziraphale had looked at Crowley shivering in his sleep, and had instinctually miracled up his favourite blanket to keep him warm, a blanket he wasn’t even aware he owned until it appeared.

Crowley decided he didn’t want to think about it, and went back to sleep, tucking his head back into Aziraphale’s neck.  

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos make me smile, comments earn eternal salvation (or damnation, depending on your preference) <3
> 
> Tune in next time for a trip to Tadfield to consult a device other than their own!


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